


Where The Flowers Still Grow

by revelavoo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, F/F, F/M, Gardener Draco, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, More characters to appear later, Neo Death Eaters, Pansy Parkinson is kind of good but there’s smth i seem to forget telling you abt her, Sensitive Draco Malfoy, former Auror Ron Weasley, more ships to come later, purebloods are really not having a good time, reposted work from my old account, sensitive Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22049881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revelavoo/pseuds/revelavoo
Summary: At Kingsley’s more than decisive wish, Harry accepts to take a break from the Auror Department. Perhaps a couple weeks somewhere quiet, somewhere he can come to terms with his ever growing supply of make-believe nightmares. Harry is partially convinced that he’s going insane. He’s also sure that nothing is working as it should because of his stupid actions.Hiding from the reaping of his once proud soul, Draco accepted his fate of ruins. His only wish is never to be found. Shame and anger have passed, but it still hurts. It hurts to not know who you are anymore, or if you’ll ever be able to face the outside world again. But that’s fine; the flowers are the ones to keep him going.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Kudos: 4





	Where The Flowers Still Grow

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is one of my old Drarry fanfics that I’ve started writing a few years ago. It used to be posted on my other account, but I felt the need to start afresh.   
> The story used to have tooons of grammar and vocabulary errors, so I reviewed it a couple of times and it hopefully turned out better this time. English is not my native language, and far from perfect, but definitely much better than back then.  
> So I hope you will enjoy my story and I’m also very excited to find out how you like it :)

1\. Broken and Unbroken

Dark and silent, the forest was a live play of his worst nightmares. No wind, no animals. No sign that anything alive was there at all. No assurance that anything was going to be fine.  
That a green light won’t struck him right in the chest, and the world will cry once again his name. Probably for the last time.

Crooked shadows were hanging from the trees, creating a strange river of darkness all over the place. Green leaves were laying on the ground, like someone had intentionally shaken them off. It wasn’t even autumn.   
Outside, despite the late hour in the night, was slightly warm. No, those leaves shouldn't be there. 

Someone climbed that tree and were watching Harry right at that moment. 

Harry removed his wand from the pocket, and started to investigate the branches. Nothing to be seen. Not in the dark, anyway. Harry whispered Lumos, succeeding to illuminate most of his near surroundings. Just a few tall, old lindens that were encircling him.

“Who is there?” he shouted, frowning.

No one answered. As expected.  
He was going insane. Harry hasn’t had a wink of sleep in four days. Not after he didn’t catch that damned Death Eater. And now, even when Kingsley told him to take some days off, Harry still couldn’t help himself. That bastard was free, killing and torturing people, and Harry was staying home, unable to do anything. He hated himself. He hated how easily he gave in to Kingsley’s decision(It wasn’t even a decision! Kingsley just told him one morning ‘Don’t come tomorrow to work, Harry. You could use some rest.’) without trying at least to change the minister's mind.  
No, everything was his bloody fault. And this was his reward for being such a fool.

He looked one more time at the tree, and shut the light down. Harry walked further, disgusted by how miserably he felt. There was no point in resting. Not now. Not when the Auror Department was the only thing that was working, somewhat, normally in his life. He needed to work. To distract himself from every single problem that usually clouded his thoughts. 

Oh, and there was something that made things even worse: Ginny, and Ron, and, in extension, Hermione. Friends. Family. At least that’s how he still thought of them. The problem was if they still thought the same of him.  
Hermione called him almost daily, to ask how he was doing and if he needed any help. She really was concerned about Harry’s obsession with work. But she never talked about Ron or Ginny.  
He was glad that she didn't ignore him, but it still hurt. After all, Ron was his best friend. And Ginny was too. But just that. Harry tried for her sake to be more; to love her like she loved him. He really tried. For months he told himself that, hey, maybe someday the routine will click with him. But that was the worst. How could one call love a routine?  
He knew that in the end it was going to turn out just the same, so Harry tried from the beginning to minimize the pain as much as possible. By starting to distance himself from Ginny. By being less attentive and more detached. Even to avoid her for days. Of course she got the idea, but she wasn't as willing as Harry to end the relationship. It lasted for some more weeks after his first ‘I’m done, Ginny’ and, eventually, ended disastrously. Ever since, neither Ginny or Ron talked to him anymore.

And now? Now he hoped that maybe everything was just an unpleasant nightmare, and tomorrow they’ll still be kids. Still waking up to go in the Great Hall for breakfast before the courses started. Still complaining about what a pain in the ass Snape was. Harry still in love (?) with Ginny. With Ron still by his said. With Hermione’s annoying know-it-all attitude. With Neville, and Luna, and everyone else. All alive, so young and naive. Just childish tease spicing the day. Having fun laughing with your best friends about Malfoy’s snooty face in Potions. 

Harry could not help it but fantasize about his Hogwarts days. When, finally, he had a place to call home. He had friends and people to call family. But now, he didn’t even have the courage to show up at the Weasleys’. Harry didn’t know how much Mrs. and Mr. Weasley knew about his breakup with Ginny. But he guessed that Ron might have mumbled to himself out of anger, and his parent might have heard him. And Ginny... Oh, God, Ginny. She was devastated! No way did she kept everything inside. Last time he saw Ginny, her eyes were still puffy.

Harry thought that all his memories were coated in a thick layer of sugar. After all, Voldemort breathed at the back of his neck for all that time. He killed him, and almost did it for a second time. What saved him were his friends. They always managed to give Harry the necessary power to carry on; to keep fighting. Without Hermione and Ron he’d have been dead a long time ago. They certainly didn’t deserve Harry’s betrayal. Ginny didn’t deserve it.

Harry hoped that, if he kept blaming himself, maybe everything will go back to normal. Maybe he’ll realize he was sorry for leaving Ginny, and maybe she’ll forgive him. Everything was a maybe for Harry now. Most of all, his sanity.

He was unable to understand what was going on in his head. One day he would be just fine, occupying his time with the Auror Office, and the next morning he’s wandering alone on some unknown streets, confused and frustrated how he got there. 

“ I’m so sorry, Harry! Please, please, go consult this mugbleborn therapist. She’s just perfect for helping you. Really, it’s going to be alright “ would Hermione say, with teary eyes and compassion in her voice. She tried, for a many good months by now, to help him with his psychological scars, suggesting him some magic-counseling or a longer break from work.   
But Harry couldn’t bring himself to accept the fact that he was sick. That The Boy Who Lived was, yes, alive, but dying inside. He was there to help people. To save people. Not to become another patient on St. Mungo’s post-war treatment list. Harry was not going to give up on fighting. Not until every last Death Eater was gone. Not until every shadow of his past dissolved and became just another ugly cicatrice on his body.

And if that meant him seeing things that didn’t exist and shouting at trees, then it was just fine. There was nothing like walking by yourself in the dark, searching for blood-thirsty criminals. “ Perhaps I should go home for tonight “, thought Harry, without realizing he actually told it aloud.

The forest was still dead silent and no stars or moon where filling the black sky. It felt as if he were on a completely other planet; locked in a shoe-box. It was just too damn dark outside.

He didn’t want to use Lumos again, for this way he could be easily identified by a Death Eater. He was sure they were looming in this forest. There were to many rumors and witnesses to be just people fantasizing. Someone was in this place and thought that hiding in a muggle forest would be a clever idea. It was a shame that the Ministry had increased the security measures, even in small muggle villages. At the moment, there were more witches and wizards spread all over the world than anytime in the history. Even after Voldemort’s downfall, Kingsley preferred to remain alert than regret later.

Harry must have apparated back home the previous night and fell then asleep and apparated again, because the next thing he knew, he was stepping into the Weasley’s garden. 

It was midsummer and, even in the middle of nowhere, the house was loud as it could be. Laughter and familiar voices were filling the air and the space between Harry and the subject of his anxiety. Never has he been so scared to walk towards someone he loved. Towards something that once has been a safe haven.  
With each step, little, devilish sparkles burst in his stomach and in his chest, heaving his feet and breathing. Around him, the clouds were spinning like crazy. An explosion of sounds was threatening to blow up his eardrums, rustling and chirping and buzzing. For a short moment, all he could see was a blurry picture of what must have been the front door. After that, the dark took over.

~ ~ ~

‘Harry, can you hear me?’

Yes.

‘What’s wrong? Shouldn’t we take him to Saint Mungos?’

No, please. Not the hospital.

‘Ron, stop slapping his face! You’re only hurting him.’

It’s alright. Everything is my fault. Let him be angry.

‘Harry, Harry! He’s waking up, thank Goodness!’

Harry woke up with the dullest headache of his life. Someone was readjusting his head on a soft pillow, and, in spite of the good intention behind the gesture, it made his pain worse.

When he opened his eyes, quite a few pairs of eyes were watching him with great concern. Closest to him, holding his hand in hers and blinking slowly, was Hermione.

“What...” The words just wouldn’t come out.

Harry tried again, somehow managing to hide his own fright as well. He was so sorry for bothering them. You stupid fool.

“What happened?” was the only thing he could ask, before seeing Ginny standing right next to Hermione. She was troubled as well, and Harry hoped it was out of annoyance. He didn’t deserve her pity.

Hermione gave him a small smile, and whispered almost relieved “Harry, you fainted. Have you eaten anything in the past days? Or slept at all?”

He couldn’t bring himself to answer her questions, for he knew it would only provoke more pain. He just nodded, averting his eyes.

Through the windows, slightly opened and framed by a set of patched up curtains that were sometimes stroking the back of the bed he was laying on, Harry could see the starry night sky.   
A sudden pat on his shoulder brought him back into the overfilled room.  
It was Ron.

“Do you need anything?” although his words were genuine, his eyes were as uncertain as Harry’s probably were. How did he get away from them so easily? How could he let this happen? “Harry?”.

“No, thank you. Really. I- I just need some rest I guess,” he muttered, trying to hold onto Ron’s gaze.

“Right.” Ron. And Ginny.

Harry was, suddenly, glad and sad at the same time.

Luckily, a few moments later(only after Hermione made sure he was truly alright, and didn’t need any professional help) all of them left the room. The room, now painfully empty. Leaving him between four manually painted yellow walls, with the voiceless night as his sole companion.

The next day, early in the morning, Harry walked down the stairs into the kitchen, trying to be as silent as possible. His attempt to reach the garden unnoticed was an almost success. That, until no one else but Ginny appeared through an unexpected doorway.

They both froze in place, speechless and stupefied. There were no words to be said; at least on Harry’s side. So he waited for her to react. To yell. To tell him how disappointed she was and what a big egoistical idiot he must have been for betraying her like this.

But for some reason, she didn’t. 

She just stood there, all sleepy eyes and strong built. It was almost as looking in a mirror. Maybe that was the problem. For it was a tiring thing to watch over your naked self at any given time. To see all the broken stuff that scraped and spoiled it.

But Ginny was not scraped; nor spoiled. She was something he aspired to be. She was brave, kind and devoted to her loved ones. She was something that a broken creature like Harry should never lay eyes upon. Should never poison with his own ruination.

Ginny slightly nodded and wanted to walk past him, but, again, she did just the opposite of what Harry expected.  
This time, horrified, Harry realized why. His own words, spoken without him realizing it.

‘Would you mind drinking some tea?’ with me? Fortunately, those two last words he didn’t say. They would have been too personal, too intimate. Things they haven’t been for a long time. Things they might never feel again in their shared presence.

For a moment Harry thought she will refuse, or that she would sneer right in his face and finally tell him to sod off. But she never ceased surprising him, and shortly answered: “Sure.”

Walking back towards the kitchen, they exchanged a few pleasantries. Harry almost forgot how easy it was to talk with her. They were so much alike, but simultaneously two separate, whole universes. Running in distinct directions. Seeing the same things, but in different colours and with different backgrounds. Hearing the same things, but with different tonalities and voices of the past.

Harry dearly remembered his first days at the Weasleys’. When everything seemed suddenly so bright and hopeful. So warm and safe. Hugs. Smiles. No more loneliness and night terrors. Just only for a few hours, he could be a naive, careless child.  
Harry Potter, a child. Harry Potter, friend of the Weasleys’. Harry Potter, a child with no family finally finding himself in a situation he didn’t even dare to dream of. 

“Milk or sugar?”

But, somehow, he managed to wreck everything. And he couldn’t feel more miserable or regretful.

“Harry, are you okay?” Again those troubled eyes, watching him over the table and the steaming water. I’m so sorry, Ginny.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” and he tried to perform a sincere smile for her sake.   
“Sugar, please.” 

Never again will he be able to tell her how much he loved her, how much he cared about her well being, her happiness. For that was why they couldn’t stay together. He could never make her happy. He wasn’t what she deserved. He simply wasn’t enough. And, before everything else, she loved her just like he loved Ron and Hermione. And Ginny deserved by far more. Not a delusional romance.

“Ginny?” despite his effort, her name came out unnecessarily serious.

Ginny placed her cup on the table and said nothing. But her eyes were saying everything her mouth tried to doge.  
Harry nodded to himself, and looked briefly away. Then he said, “I’ll be gone for a few weeks, perhaps months. Kingsley doesn’t need me the next period of time, and I’m getting nuts staying here and doing nothing. I- I-” he sighted “- Ginny, I really resent the latest decisions I’ve made. But I’m so confused and scared of hurting you or Ron or anyone else again that I don’t know what else to do. I know what I’ve done is unforgettable, and that you must want me as far away from you as possible. But I want to tell you how much I regret my actions. You don’t have to tell me anything; what I’m trying to say is,” another anxious exhalation “I try, I mean, I hope to make everything right again, but... that’s just not how it works. “ He shrugged, embracing himself. “I must pay for my mistakes, and,” he feared to search for understanding or hate in her eyes, therefore he kept starring at his half-emptied mug “I dream that, maybe, one day- even if I’m very aware how little I deserve it- we will be friends again.”

In the early mornings the Weasley house could be uncharacteristically, almost eerily quiet. And now, without Harry’s voice to fill the kitchen with its anxiety and hesitation, the silence fell again upon the wood cabinets and hybrid muggle electronics.

She was scarcely hiding her unhappiness regarding the situation, but that was Ginny and exactly that made Harry feel at ease in her company. For a moment, her lower and upper copper lashes met. For a moment he felt as if the air was sucked out of his lungs. But then she opened her eyes again, and the air flooded him.

“I- I don’t know Harry. I mean, I know you said you don’t expect me to say anything, but how could I stay silent after all of this?” she gesticulated towards the table with a slender, but wide and calloused hand. 

“I know I have my part of fault, and I don’t want you to see yourself as the black sheep in our breakup. I reacted recklessly and childish; the truth is, I truly appreciated your sincerity, and,” her eyes were reflecting the same colour of guilt as his “it helped me realize. To realize that the lack of romance was reciprocated.” 

Harry’s thoughts stopped bedazzling his mind, and the only thing he could think about was that lack. 

“Harry,” Ginny started, but he was already smiling like a mad man. He felt so stupid and horrible for doing it, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Harry, I’m sorry as well,” Ginny said, covering his hand with hers. And then he watched her face. Her eyes. Her lips. She was smiling too.

They were both smiling.  
Like mad people.  
But they were smiling. And that was all that mattered.

It would not have surprised harry to learn that they stood like that for a few good hours. It still felt weird, days later. How easily he and Ginny could communicate without the usage of words. Only through brief exchanges of glances. Something about this silent language seemed almost too beautiful to be real. It was unique.

That, until he met him. Again.


End file.
